


Threads

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Challenges, Communication, Culture Shock, Dimension Travel, Doctor Anders (Dragon Age), Getting to Know Each Other, Head Injury, Hospitalization, I Blame Tumblr, Living Together, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: Fenris is concussed after a pitched battle on the Wounded Coast.  As usual, Anders revives him - but it's not the Anders, or the Thedas, that Fenris knows.





	1. Chapter 1

The Tal-Vashoth brings the end of his great axe up, and Fenris has no time.  No time to move, no time to yell, no time for anything except what he is sure is his final breath.  One last moment, and then the world goes black.

 

ooo

 

_...ou call an ambulan…       ...this guy, fuck, I don’t kno... _

_                                                ...losing him.     Nurse, plea… _

 

Just sounds in the dark, and then Fenris knows no more.

 

ooo

 

When he awakes, he feels stiff and sore all over.  There is some kind of strange bird call, an incessant tweeting, rhythmic and steady.  He sighs.  Someone gasps next to him, and Fenris tenses, trying to open his eyes.  There is the sound of someone moving, and a brief click.  Fenris struggles, his head feeling clogged, his instinct for survival pulling him up hard and fast.  He grunts, and slits his eyes open, looking into the face of…

 

“Mage,” he croaks, “What…”

“Shh,” Anders tells him, “Don’t move too much.  You took a nasty knock to the head.  You’re at Kirkwall General.   We need to keep you overnight for observation.  Is there anyone we can call?”

“You keep me at your peril,” Fenris growls, then flinches and gasps as the pain in his head becomes unbearable.  Anders raises one eyebrow and sighs.

“I understand,” he says softly, “And I’m sorry.  Do you not have insurance?  We couldn’t find your identification.  Were you robbed?”

 

Fenris sneers.  “Stop your gibberish.  I was with Hawke.  There were bandits, certainly, but the Tal Vashoth was the one that got me.”  

“Alright,” Anders says slowly, looking puzzled.  “Do you know what year it is?”

“Idiot, of course,” Fenris tells him, “It is 9:29 Dragon.”

“Nine… okay,”  Anders smiles, leans back and strokes his chin.  “Okay.  It might be a little bit longer than an overnight stay, we’ll see how that goes.  I’m going to get a specialist down here and…”

“No magic,” Fenris says quickly, trying to sit up.  As he does, he pulls on the IV line in his arm - the brief flare of pain makes him hiss, and quite suddenly, he realises that this… this place is like nowhere he knows.  Panic spreads its wings inside his chest; he can feel his eyes widen, his mouth open, and then his body reacts.  He pulls at the line, tearing it from his flesh, struggles out from between the brilliant white sheets.  Distantly, he can hear shouting, running feet, and he makes for the one door.  Anders stands still by the bed, hands out, conciliatory.  Fenris glances at him quickly, feels the chill of this… Maker, what  _ is _ this, it’s not stone under his feet, it’s… Grimly, he pushes the thought aside, raising one arm to pull the sword from its scabbard and realises it is not there.  “My sword!” he screams across the room at Anders, “Mage, what have you done to me!  What have you done?”

 

“Nothing, it’s fine, your sword is fine,” Anders tells him, his eyes flicking to the door.  He makes a gesture - a  _ go away _ gesture - at the people who crowd there.  Fenris looks too, catches enough to see three large humans, all wearing some strange uniform of light blue.   They are all bigger than him, but he could take them.  In his panic, the lyrium under his skin will activate and he… He gasps, eyes going to his hands.  There is no glow.  And… “No pain,” he murmurs, running his hands along his forearms, his heart racing.  Nothing exists for him in that brief, shining moment.  The marks are still there, but they are dull, white against his skin.  He looks up, winces at the pain in his head.  “Anders, what did you do?” he whispers in awe, and the red-haired man looks at him in surprise.

“How did you know my name?” he asks.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions and incomprehensible answers.

Fenris’ eyes go wide.  “We have known each other for years.  Has the world gone mad?  What is this place?” he asks, as Anders stares back at him.  For once, he appears to have no words.  Fenris sighs, then his attention is arrested by the movement of one of the men standing in the doorway.  It is no more than a slight shift of his body, but it is enough to bring Fenris’ attention snapping back into focus.  “Move again if you dare,” he growls, and one of the men glances at Anders.

“What do you want us to do, doc?” he asks, and Fenris hears Anders swallow.

 

“You can go,” he says slowly, and the same man, the tall one on the left, glances again at Anders.  “I don’t think he’ll be a danger.  Am I wrong?”

It takes a moment for Fenris to realise that Anders is addressing him.  He glares at the mage, who looks at him questioningly.  In that glance, Fenris fully comprehends the strangeness of Anders’ garb - dark blue shirt with short sleeves, a small row of shiny metal objects pinned it, and even more oddly… “Mage,” Fenris asks, “Why are you not wearing robes?  And what are those things on your eyes?”

Anders’ eyebrows rise.  “Uh…” he begins, then snorts a laugh, “My glasses?  I… see with them.  And I usually save the robes for the weekend.  I mean, I’d  _ hate _ to wear them out.”  He chuckles again and seems to relax.  “And they get  _ so _ drafty.  Hardly suitable for a hospital environment.”

Fenris takes a deep breath and shifts out of his fighting stance.  “A what?”  Staring at Anders, his attention is once more caught by the three men.  He looks at them, still crowded in the doorway and sneers.  “Did you not hear him?  I am not a danger.”  He smirks, allowing the  _ not yet _ intended by the expression to be fully comprehended by them.  One of the men removes an amulet of some kind from beneath his shirt, kisses it, all the while looking at Fenris dubiously.  But the others seem to relax as well, and then their leader beckons them away.  Once more, Fenris turns and looks at Anders.

 

His eyes are curious, and suddenly, Fenris feels conscious of the fact that he appears to be wearing nothing more than a loose robe himself.  Worse, this robe seems to leave him completely bare at the back.  He snatches at the fabric, holding it together, then looks balefully at Anders, who smiles apologetically, then looks away pointedly.  “I didn’t see anything,” he states, and Fenris huffs in annoyance.

“It is nothing you have not seen before,” he mutters, “But where is my armour?”

“Your… right.  Your armour.  Well, we had to take it off you when you came in.  May I ask you a question?”

Fenris shuffles a little, back toward the bed, where he sits down, feeling marginally better.  “You may.”

“What is  _ your _ name?  I do apologise, if we’ve known each other for years, but… it must have… slipped my mind.”

 

“Fenris,” he says coldly, “Though that is not my true name.  I do not remember that.  I do not remember anything before Danarius woke me with these brands.”

Once again, Anders' eyes go large, then he frowns and steps forward his boots - no, these are shoes, shoes of such spectacular ugliness that Fenris cannot help his scornful expression - they squeak on the floor.  “What?” he asks sharply, “What happened?”

Fenris sighs.  “Danarius.  My master - my previous master.  He…”

“Master?” Anders asks, then realisation seems to dawn on his face, and he looks a little embarrassed.  “Oh.  I’m sorry.  If this is like… a bondage subculture thing, I didn’t…”

“It is slavery, you  _ know  _ that,” Fenris says angrily, balling his hands into fists on his thighs.  “Danarius gave me these brands, forced the lyrium under my skin.  I have no memory before that time, save what I managed to piece together.  He is abhorrent, and I have no more fervent wish than to tear his heart from his chest with my own hands.”

 

Anders stares at him, stunned - he looks sick, pale and awful.  Then his jaw clenches, but the sentence Fenris expects never arrives.  “I… I don’t… Lyrium?”  He looks at Fenris uncomprehendingly, then shakes his head, and suddenly his expression is furious.  

 

“If this guy was hurting you in any way,” Anders mutters, “We have to get the police involved.  I mean, you’re safe here.  We can put a guard on your room if it will make you feel better.  What… what can we do?  Do you want to talk to the police?”

“The… police?” Fenris asks.  He has never heard this word before.  The strangeness of it hits him suddenly, in a way in which nothing else has - not the room, not Anders’ clothing, not the fact that although this is certainly Anders here before him, there is every indication that Anders does not know him at all.  Fenris takes a deep breath in, then shakily exhales.  “Ma… Anders?  You said before that I was in… Kirkwall.  Is that correct?”

 

Slowly, Anders nods, looking concerned.  Fenris clenches his jaw, sighs through his nose and asks, rather unsure of himself, “And have you given me anything?  Any elfroot, any potion?”

“No,” Anders says softly, and licks his lip.  “I… don’t know what that is.  Fenris, aren’t you worried about..?”

But Fenris gestures for him to be quiet.  “We have not met before now?  Are you still possessed?”

“Possessed?” Anders gapes, his shock evident, then he laughs shakily, “Well, my friends would say I’m possessed of an insatiable desire to pet every cat in Thedas.”

Fenris can only stare at him for a moment, before he asks, “Then… are you no longer a mage?”

 

“I… no, Fenris.  I’m a lot of things, but… no.  Not a mage.  That’s… that’s only for fantasy games, dungeons and dragons, and I haven’t played that in years.  There’s no magic, I… I am very sorry, but… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Anders puts his hands out in an imploring gesture, then shakes his head.  “I’m sorry.  But look, I can get some guards on your door, make sure you’re safe, and I’ll get a nurse to take bloods in a little while.  We can give you a sedative too, help you sleep.  I’d like to run some toxicology tests, maybe a…”

 

Fenris is no longer listening.  He feels adrift, alone, everything that he thought he’d known sheared away in an instant, reduced to ash.  Anders keeps talking, but slowly, Fenris turns, looking out the large plate window which looks out onto the bay, the brilliant city lights twinkling in the distance.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The nurse looks at him balefully, and Fenris glares back.  “No,” he says, “If you attempt to put that… that  _ thing _ on me, then I will not be responsible for what happens next.”

The woman takes a deep breath in, holds it, then smiles tensely.  “It’s doctors orders,” she tells him, and Fenris snorts.

“I am fine.  I need no quackery to tell me that.  I do not know why Anders insists upon all of this.”

 

“ _ Doctor _ Anders isn’t here at the moment,” the nurse tells him, her tone struggling to maintain neutrality, “But he’ll be annoyed if I haven’t administered this test.  It’s just blood pressure. It won’t take long, and it won’t hurt.  So please, sir, if I can…”

“You can take your…”  Fenris narrows his eyes at the device.  It’s not of dwarven manufacture, but it’s not something he’s ever seen a mage use; he is utterly at a loss as to what it might do.  “Your…  _ thing _ … out of this room.  Or better yet, cast it out of the window, for all I care.  You will not put it on me.”

“If you’re refusing treatment, then…”  The nurse huffs an annoyed breath out of her nose, “Look.  As soon as Doctor gets back on shift, I’ll get him to come and talk to you.  You don’t  _ have _ to be here, you know.”

 

Once more, Fenris snorts.  “Believe me, if I knew how to get out, I would,” he mutters, folding his arms over his chest.  The nurse sighs, packing the little device away; she swishes aside the curtains, shifts the machine and gives him a final annoyed glance, before she closes the curtains again.  Fenris’ expression changes quickly to one of deep concern, now that the nurse is gone.  Everything feels so… strange.  This is absolutely Kirkwall - the bay, Sundermount, all the geographical features that he can see from the window of the hospital or has overheard in snatches of conversation, they are all present.  The people are the same - hard-faced, the same accents to their Common.  But everything else has changed.  Even the food tastes odd, as if it has been mixed with some kind of incredibly sweet honey.  They had given him some sort of strange, stiff concoction on the first day - it was a violent green colour, and the orderly who had delivered it had called it  _ gel-oh _ .  Whatever it was called, it was utterly repellant.  

 

He sighs, feeling adrift, more utterly alone than he has in a long time - more utterly trapped as well.  He has no idea where they have put his clothes; all he has is the strange flappy robe, which he knows is not the usual garb for this place.  He has seen people visiting the other patients in what Anders had called his  _ ward _ \- they wear all manner of garments.  Some of them leave most of their legs on show; many of them wear the shoes which squeak on the floor.  Their clothes look clean, as seems to be the custom of this place, and soft, and the colours are deeper, more varied than he has seen in the Marches - indeed, any place outside of the highest echelons of the Imperium.  He cannot figure it out.  

 

It has been perhaps an hour, maybe more, since the nurse left.  Fenris finds it near impossible to tell the time in this place.  He has been drifting in and out of a doze, his exhaustion total after the low-grade panic of the last two days.  Suddenly, the curtain swishes aside once more.  Fenris snaps to attention, sitting bolt upright; but it is only Anders.  Thank the Maker.  He never thought he’d be so relieved to see the mage… not that he is a mage anymore.  Or at all.  How could there be a world with no magic?  Fenris pushes the thought aside as Anders smiles wryly at him and says, “I hear you were giving Mimi some trouble?  You wouldn’t even let her take your blood pressure?”

 

“No,” Fenris tells him flatly, and Anders shakes his head.

“You know, it’s really important for us to make sure you’re alright,” he says, coming to stand at the side of Fenris’ bed.  “When you came in, you’d obviously sustained some pretty significant head trauma.  I mean, nothing came through on the MRI, but you were unconscious, and there’s still a bit of…” he waggles his fingers up near his temple, making a face.  “Dissonance going on.  Maybe.  But if you won’t let us treat you, then…”

Anders leaves the end of the sentence to trail off.  Fenris looks at him steadily, then shakes his head.  “I do not need to be here.  I am healthy.  Moreover, I do not  _ want _ to be here.  This place… there is something not right about it.”

Anders chuckles.  “Yeah,” he says fondly, “A lot of people feel that way about hospitals.”  He rubs his chin, his grin dissolving into a frown.  “That’s the other thing.  You’ve… you’ve got no records.  At all.  And if we don’t have your real name…”

 

“I have told you,” Fenris says, “I do not know it.”

Anders’ expression shifts, looking annoyed for a moment before it softens.  “If you won’t give us your name, that’s one thing,” he says quietly, “But we’ll have to release you otherwise.  And I have to say, insurance very much aside, what you said the other night about someone who was harming you…”  He trails off.  After a moment of silence in which he watches Fenris closely, he frowns, “Look.  We can’t get your medical records, insurance numbers, any family you might have…”

“I have none,” Fenris says, then takes a deep breath, “I do not want to stay.”

 

“Yeah.  You said,” Anders says bleakly, then shakes his head.  “Man, if you don’t want to stay, then we can’t keep you.  You can discharge yourself if you want to - I can get you the paperwork right now.  But…”

“Good,” Fenris says, ignoring the fact that he does not know what half of what Anders has told him means, “If there is a way to get out of this place, let me avail myself of it.  I will impose upon you no further.”

Anders sighs again, “It’s not an imposition, Fenris.  I actually like helping people - even stubborn people.  That’s what hospitals are for.  But I see I won’t change your mind.  I’ll be back in a half hour or so.” He grins, “And I’ll bring you some clothes too.”

 

“Fine,” Fenris tells him, and Anders’ smile changes, becomes sad.  

“You really won’t reconsider?” he asks softly.  

Fenris shakes his head.  “I have to go.  I must… find Hawke.”

Anders cocks his head sharply, narrowing his eyes, then makes a puzzled face.  His mouth opens, hangs there for a second, then snaps shut.  He shakes his head and takes a deep breath.  “Alright,” he says, “I’ll be back.”

 

In due course, a nurse - a different one this time - comes to his curtained portion of the room.  Fenris takes the clothes she gives him, and frowns at the clipboard and pen on top of the pile.  “What is this?”

“The forms?” The woman looks puzzled, then states, “Doctor said you wanted to be discharged?”

“Yes.  But…”  The end of his sentence trails off, and Fenris gazes down at the sheet of paper.  There is something printed upon it - boxes and long lines, shapes which he does not recognise.  He clenches his jaw.  “I cannot read,” he says, and the nurse gapes at him.  

“I…” she begins, then there is a sharp rap and Anders pokes his head around the side of the curtain.  “Everything alright in here?”

 

“Doctor,” the nurse begins, then Fenris drops the pile of clothing on to the bed to pick up the clipboard.

“Why did you not tell me this, mage?  That I would be expected to jump through these… these  _ hoops _ before you would permit me to go?” he asks, his voice rising, hysteria touching his mind.  It is strangeness upon strangeness, the expectations of this place, the ridiculousness of having Anders here - a familar light, a familar face which only serves to throw into sharper contrast everything else.  He picks up the clipboard and shakes it at Anders, who looks shocked.  “I cannot  _ read _ .  You  _ know that. _  And these!”  Fenris drops the clipboard with a clatter, scoops up soft black cloth, which he then throws angrily to the floor.  “That is not mine!  This is not my place!  This is not my time!  I do not understand what it is that you want from me, but you will keep me no longer!”

 

Anders nods, his eyes wide.  The nurse looks nervous, biting her lip - they share a glance and Anders nods again.  She flees.  “Alright, Fenris,” Anders says softly, “You need to calm down.  I…”

“Calm down?” Fenris asks, then clenches his fists.  He hates this place.  This is not Kirkwall.  Not  _ his _ Kirkwall.  Slowly, he takes a deep breath, then looks up, tries to relax.  “Show me what to do.  Please.  I am… I am exhausted.  I recognise nothing here - everything is strange to me.  Please, ma… Anders.  Please help me.”

But Anders only stares at him; it feels like that stare goes on for a very long time.  Eventually, Fenris looks away, puts his hand on the second item of clothing, still resting on the bed.  However, as he picks it up, Anders clears his throat and walks further into the room.

 

“Look,” he says, and his voice is very soft.  Fenris pauses, listening hard.  “I… this is really… uh, kind of unprofessional.  I guess.  It’s… but…  I can’t not.  I mean, you… you’re not exactly thriving in a hospital environment.  But… If I help you with the discharge forms, where will you go?”

“I do not know,” Fenris admits.  “But I will find a way.”

Anders snorts faintly.  “I don’t doubt it,” he says, and Fenris looks up to see him smiling softly.  “I’ll help you with the forms.  But… if you’ve got nowhere else to go, you… uh, you could come and crash at mine, if you wanted?”

“Crash?” Fenris asks, and Anders laughs quietly.

“Stay.  At my house.  It’s not much,” he says warningly, then picks up a small, dark blue object which had fallen to the floor when Fenris had shaken the clipboard.  “So?  Are we doing these forms or what?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to solidify for both Anders and Fenris.

Fenris hesitates in the doorway of the small apartment.  Anders turns quickly, smiling at him nervously, and says, “Told you.”

“What?” Fenris blinks at him and scowls, “What did you tell me?”

“That it’s not much,” Anders says softly, and unzips his light coat.  He frowns a little bit, then asks, “Are you coming in or not?”

 

In answer, Fenris steps over the threshold and averts his eyes, then turns and pushes the door closed behind him.  He clears his throat into the awkward silence which follows, then asks, “Are you sure about this?”

 

He doesn’t know if _he’s_ sure about it, truth be told.  But he remembers too clearly the ride through the city - the brilliantly lit city, people everywhere, the strange horseless carriage Anders had called a _kar_ , which smelled strongly of cat piss and old food.  It was utterly terrifying - the speed at which Anders had driven, the sound of the thing, the awful din which came from something Anders had called the _steer-eoh_.  His heart pounding in his ears, his hands in fists on his lap, Fenris had clenched his jaw and closed his eyes against it all.

 

He sighs and blinks, feels tears close.  He is exhausted.  Looking around the living room, he sees piles of books, strewn haphazardly on the little table next to an overstuffed chair.  Everything seems distant, bizzarre.  Even the light, Maker, the light which comes from above, and yet all he saw Anders do was touch a small white panel in the wall.  Are all dwellings like this?  It is so _clean_ here, it smells… so strange, and the light, the light is so… His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest and he rubs it, but he can’t… this is too… and the light… He…

 

“Fenris? Did you hear me?”

He comes back to himself at his name.  Turning to face the sound, he sees Anders, standing about a stride away from him.  Anders smiles softly, looking worried.  “Have a seat over there.  I know this must be really overwhelming for you, but I’ll just need a second to make your bed.  Then we can have something to eat and you can…”

“I am not hungry,” Fenris tells him dully, and Anders frowns slightly.

 

“Okay,” he says slowly, “We’ll deal with that in a minute.  Do you… are you…?”

His vision is going grey at the edges, and Fenris realises - too late - that he is about to faint.  Almost in slow motion, he watches the expression on Anders’ face change, opens his mouth to tell him _I am fine_ , and then the world goes dark.

 

He dreams he is on one of the outcroppings of Sundermount, elfroot swaying at his feet.  The gulls call shrilly overhead, the waves crash soundlessly, far, far below.  He can smell the sea from where he stands.  He feels as if someone is calling his name from very far away; he strains, listening carefully, and then his mind slips deeper into sleep and the dream goes dark again.

 

It could be hours later, or days, or only minutes, but Fenris awakes.  His feet feel as if a heavy object is on them and he shifts.  Something makes a _mmrp?_ sound, and a shape looms at the end of the bed.  Instantly, Fenris is up, scrambling backwards in the bed, shunting the cat, kicking at it in his terror.  “What?!  What?” he hears Anders shout, then a light flares and there is the sound of the cat’s bell, jingling furiously as it runs away.  Anders laughs shakily, standing in the doorway.  “Andraste’s knickerweasles, that was awful.  I’m sorry - he must have snuck in while I was downstairs.”  He blows out a short breath and smiles ruefully at Fenris, who can only stare.  “That’s Pounce.  He’s my cat.”

 

“Your cat,” Fenris says shakily, too tired to be incredulous. He rubs his eyes.  Anders walks quickly to him and crouches next to the bed.  

“How’re you feeling?”

“The same,” Fenris tells him, “Lost.”

“Lost,” Anders repeats, and sighs.  “Do you feel as if you could eat?”

“I… suppose,” Fenris tells him reluctantly.  He really does not want anything, but knows that he cannot refuse to eat simply because the taste is so unfamiliar.   _Fool,_ he chastises himself, _When you travelled south, the world was unfamiliar to you then as well.  Are you so soft with freedom that you would forget it?  Call upon what you learned as you fled Danarius - namely, that you can, you_ will _survive.  This is nothing by comparison._

 

He straightens his back and throws off the covers.  “Hold on,” Anders tells him warningly, “You’re going to…”

“I do not require assistance,” Fenris growls, batting away Anders’ hands, which have immediately come out as if to catch him.  He clenches his jaw, squeezes his eyes shut and moves his legs slowly out of bed.  His feet hit the carpet, and he looks down at them.  Maker, it’s so… “Soft,” he breathes, and rubs the soles of his feet upon it.

 

Anders huffs a quiet laugh.  “It’s the little things, huh?  You sure I can’t bring you something to eat?”

“And eat where?  In bed?”  Fenris wrinkles his nose up at Anders, who chuckles.

“Well, it’s my bed.  If I say you can eat in it, then…”

Quickly, Fenris looks around himself.  “This is your bed?”

“Yeah, I…”

“I apologise,” Fenris says, and gets up quickly.  He pitches forward in his haste, and Anders catches him, one hand on his elbow, the other on his hip.  “Steady,” he grumbles, “You’ve just bloody fainted, don’t go charging all around the place.  You’ll do yourself a mischeif.”  

 

Fenris looks up quickly - stars float in the edges of his vision, and Anders blinks down at him.  Something seems to hang in the air between them, something… almost tangible.  Fenris clears his throat and Anders lets him go.  “I can walk unaided,” Fenris says dryly, then sighs.  “However, it would seem I cannot remember my manners.  I have not… not thanked you for your assistance.”

 

Anders grins awkwardly and flaps his hand.  “It’s nothing,” he says glibly, gesturing out the door, clearly meaning for Fenris to follow him.  “I mean, once we get all this sorted out, it’ll be something to laugh about, yeah?  There’s bound to be someone who knows who you are.”

Fenris is silent.  There are many people who know who he is - technically, Anders should be one of those people.  In that instance, he remembers the shock on Anders’ face when they had first met, and his words: _How did you know my name_?  

 

Fenris rubs his chin thoughtfully, following Anders down a narrow corridor and into another space.  There is a large machine in one corner which emits a faint buzzing noise - Anders opens it and reveals it to be some sort of food storage recepticle.  He begins taking packages out; fresh green vegetables of some description, a hard-looking container, several eggs.  “Do you drink?” Anders asks, and Fenris frowns.

“Of course,” he says, “There is nothing alive that does not.”

Anders frowns over his shoulder, then laughs.  “Ah, I mean, do you drink alcohol?  Like… beer?  Or do you want a water?  You can sit over there if you want.”

“A… water?  Then the water is safe to drink?”

 

“Well… yeah.  I mean, I don’t know how you feel about flouridation, but yeah.  It’s filtered.  I mean, it’s not _sea_ water or anything.  The Bay of Chains is polluted as fuck.”  He grimaces and narrows his eyes.  “Not that you can ever get the Viscount to pay attention to anything which doesn’t directly correlate to a vote-grab.”

Fenris blinks.  He hasn’t understood anything which Anders has said - the feeling is getting to be annoyingly familiar.  Perching on the edge of the overstuffed chair in Anders’ lounge so that he might still observe, he sighs and elects to answer the question.  “Yes.  I drink.”

“Okay,” Anders grins over at him, “I’m just going to make an omelette, okay?  Isabela’s special.”

 

Fenris feels as if his heart has stopped and he immediately gets to his feet.  “Isabela?” he chokes, “You know Isabela?  Where is she?”  His vision begins to grey again and he gropes for the back of the chair to support himself.  Anders’ eyes go wide and he takes two steps out of the kitchen, closer to Fenris.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he says, making a placating gesture with his hands.  “Isabela?  Uh, she’s the girlfriend of someone I know from work.  She’s…”

“Who?  Tell me, mage!”

Anders snorts a laugh and grins in a strange fashion.  “I wish you’d stop calling me that,” he says glumly, “You say it like it’s a real insult.  I always thought it’d be kind of cool to do magic…”  He sighs, “Merrill.  She’s Merrill’s girlfriend.  Merrill works in the haematology lab.  She’s really interesting, she’s…”

 

Fenris raises both hands to his hair, pushing his fingers through it, staring at Anders.  Anders allows the sentence to trail off, and he shakes his head.  “Man, what is going on?” he wonders aloud, “How many Isabela’s could there be in the world?  I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’d be great if you knew her but… It’s a different Isabela.  It’s gotta be.  Right?  I mean, there’s gotta be a rational explanation for all this.”

Fenris can feel his body begin to shake.  He grits his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure enough to speak.  Finally, he manages to ask, “Please.  Take me to her.  I need to see what she looks like - I need to know.”

He is shocked by the sound of his voice.  It is almost a whine, piteous and terrifyingly needy.  Anders’ brow furrows in concern, and he licks his lips.  “I can show you what she looks like right now,” he says, and digs something out of his back pocket.  “Hang on, I’ve got the app here…”

 

Fenris can only wait as Anders stares at the little box in his hand.  There is a brilliant blue glow which reflects in his glasses, and it reminds Fenris forcibly of Anders - the _real_ Anders - and his demon.  He rubs his chest, bitterly thinking that he would welcome even that sight now.  Finally, Anders gives a tiny smile and pushes the little box toward Fenris, saying, “There.  That’s Isabela’s profile.  It’s not her, not who you’re thinking of… right?”

 

There is a picture on the surface of the little box in Anders’ hand.  Slowly, Fenris approaches it, cautious, uncertain, and gives an audible gasp.  The woman in the picture is gorgeous; but what’s more, she is _familiar_ .  Her laughing dark eyes, the gold ring through her lip, dark hair flowing over one shoulder.  It is Isabela.  And if that is Isabela… “Merrill,” Fenris chokes, “And Varric.  Aveline.   _Hawke.”_

 

Slowly, Anders’ hand with the box in it drops back down to his side.  He stares at Fenris, utterly aghast.  “Varric,” he whispers, “Aveline.  Hawke… _Hawke_.  How… how did you know… I mean, how… Is this some kind of a trick?  A sick game?”

“I wish it was,” Fenris tells him, then the tears aren’t close, they’re _there_ , he’s crying.  “I want to go home,” he tells Anders, “I want to go home.  But… but this… it _is_ Kirkwall, I…”  And then Anders’ arms are around him, he’s sobbing into Anders' chest, completely abandoned to his overwhelming sense of loss.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering where you've read this before, this work originally appeared on Tumblr. 
> 
> It's had a few spelling-and-sense type corrections, and I'll be continuing it here, rather than trying to find the older chapters in my hot mess of a drafts folder. You can find me on Tumblr as [littlexabyss](http://www.littlexabyss.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Last time, you said you'd protect me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547318) by [localdadfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/localdadfriend/pseuds/localdadfriend)




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